Elizabeth nodded, and a small smile struck her mouth. Her sorrow for her missing sons did not lessen, but she saw a flicker of hope for Bess.
Margaret Beauchard Turner, one of the cleverest women alive, smiled also. ‘Let us talk frankly, shall we?’
And this they did for several hours, and they began to plan a wedding.
FIFTY-TWO
London 1927
Bess sat at the bedside of her aunt, Anne Deravenel, holding her hand, trying to comfort her. Anne had been ill for some weeks now, ever since their child Little Eddie had died, suddenly and unexpectedly of an appendicitis. Anne and Richard had been demented, out of their minds with grief, and inconsolable. And Anne had fallen apart, taken to her bed. Richard, too, was grief-stricken, but he was now managing to cope. Deravenels kept him busy.
Suddenly Anne turned her head and looked directly into Bess’s eyes, said in a low voice, ‘I can’t stop thinking about April the ninth, the day Little Eddie died at Ravenscar. Why did God take him from us on that day? The same day Ned died a year ago? To the very day, Bess. Was God punishing Richard?’
Bess leaned closer, staring at her aunt, her bright-blue eyes widening in surprise. ‘What do you mean, Aunt Anne? Why would God be punishing Uncle Richard?’
Anne lay there on the pillows, pale and wan, and remained silent, now regretting those words, aware of the shock and surprise on her niece’s face. Bess had probably misunderstood her.
‘What did you mean?’ Bess pressed, baffled and frightened by the statement of a moment ago.
Anne looked up at Bess, and smiled faintly. ‘Richard did insist the boys come to Ravenscar to be with us and Little Eddie. That weekend when we went to my mother’s house, we left them alone, and later Richard went to London. They were left unattended, Bess, except for Nanny and the staff. People are saying bad things about Richard, saying that he was negligent, and therefore he is responsible for their disappearance … but he wasn’t. He loved the boys. And who could possible imagine that they would not be safe at Ravenscar, and that a bad person would come and take them from the beach?’
Anne began to weep, and Bess bent over her, gave her a clean handkerchief, murmuring gently, ‘Please don’t cry, Anne, don’t upset yourself so. You must try and get better. Uncle Richard needs you, he’s grieving just as you are, for Little Eddie. Let me go downstairs and ask Cook to make us a pot of tea. Do you think you could eat something?’
Anne wiped her eyes, and shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry, I’m really not.’ Her eyes focused on the clock on the bedside table, and she went on softly, ‘Goodness, look at the time. It’s already six o’clock. Richard will soon come home from Deravenels.’
‘Why don’t you try to get up, Anne, to have dinner with Richard tonight. It would cheer him up.’
‘I don’t think I can … maybe I will feel better tomorrow.’
Bess, looking at her, couldn’t help thinking she was wasting away. Anne hardly ever ate, and because she barely ever got out of bed she was suffering from weakness in her legs. Atrophy, Bess thought, and pushed away that ghastly thought.
At this moment the door flew open and her uncle was suddenly standing in the doorway. He appeared tired and drained, but he pushed a smile onto his face as he walked across the room. ‘Bess, it’s lovely to see you here. Thank you for coming to be with Anne, you’re so good to her.’
‘I’ve been here all afternoon,’ Bess replied, smiling at him. They had always been close and she was genuinely fond of him. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade Aunt Anne to get up for dinner.’
‘And why not?’ He came to the side of the bed, and bent down, moved Anne’s pale blonde hair away from her face tenderly, kissed her cheek. Looking down at her, he continued, ‘Do come downstairs, my love. You don’t have to dress, and I’ll carry you. It would be so nice to dine with you tonight.’
Anne’s eyes were full of adoration for him when she answered, ‘I will take a cat nap. I promise I’ll come down later.’ Her eyes moved to Bess, and she smiled at her niece. ‘Stay for supper, darling Bess. You can help me dress later perhaps.’
‘Of course I’ll help you, Aunt Anne,’ Bess answered, and turning to her uncle she added, ‘I’ll go downstairs now, leave the two of you alone together.’
Bess went outside into the garden of her uncle’s Chelsea house, walked across the wide terrace and down to the wall that fronted onto the River Thames.
Resting her elbows on the wall, she looked down the river. For years Amos had entertained her and Grace Rose with the lore of the Thames; she had grown to love it as much as he did, and so did Grace Rose. There were a few small boats on it, on this late afternoon in May, and she couldn’t help thinking of the Lady Bess.
What had happened to that fishing boat? It was obvious that her brothers had taken it to the beach. But had they actually taken it out onto the water? Had they got into trouble and drowned? Or had the man Tom Roebottom had seen simply tied their fishing boat to his own when he had taken the boys with him?
Not so long ago she had asked Amos this question, and he had nodded, and explained, ‘If I were abducting two boys, of course I would take their boat with me … The missing boat, the Lady Bess, has created doubts in people’s minds. They think the boys may well have drowned at sea.’ Then she had asked Amos what he believed, and he had said he thought her brothers had been taken, but had no idea what their fate had been.
Bess sighed as she thought of that conversation with Amos. She tended to agree with him … no one knew what had happened to her brothers. That was the cruellest thing of all, not knowing. They had been missing almost a year. Today was the last day of May in 1927. She was eighteen, having celebrated her birthday in March … and Grace Rose was already twenty-seven. They were good friends and spent a great deal of time together; Grace Rose had been a true sister to her and like another daughter to Elizabeth, and Bess appreciated this.
‘I’ve been looking all over for you,’ Richard was saying, coming down the garden path towards her.
Bess swung around, a smile striking her mouth, and she answered, ‘I’m hiding in plain sight, Uncle Richard.’
‘Thank you again, Bess darling,’ he said as he came to her, and leaned an arm on the wall, looking at her intently. ‘You do help to cheer Anne up. She seems so weak, very listless, but the doctor can’t find anything wrong with her.’ He shook his head, his face strained.
‘She’s sick from grief,’ Bess murmured.
He was silent for a long moment, and then he said in a voice that was a whisper, ‘Dying of a broken heart, perhaps.’
‘Perhaps,’ Bess agreed, and took hold of his hand, squeezed it. ‘I know how you fret about Anne, you worry yourself sick, but I’ll come as much as I can to see her.’
Richard placed his hand over hers. ‘Thank God for you. You do her good. And you do me good, too. Whatever would I do without you, dearest Bess.’ He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. ‘You are our treasure.’
Leaning forward, Bess kissed him on the cheek. ‘I want to help you both as much as I can. I love you both, Richard. And what is a family for otherwise?’
He gave her a curious look, and said, ‘Sometimes I wonder, and most especially about ours.’
He stared off into the distance, as if seeing something she could not see. His eyes were a pale, bluish grey at this moment, and with his dark hair and sculpted face she realized yet again how much he looked liked her grandmother, his mother. Richard Deravenel had inherited the looks of the Watkins’s side of the family. He was not as tall and staggeringly handsome as her father, and his colouring was totally different. Yet he was a good-looking man, and there were times when he reminded her of her father.
It really was a peculiar thing that his seven-year-old son Little Eddie had died on the same day her father had died one year earlier. She thought of Anne’s words; they puzzled her.
She suddenly blurted out, ‘Uncle Richard, why do people say such terrible things about you?’
He swung his head away from the river, and gaped at her, startled. His face was changing before her eyes. His mouth became taut, his eyes, pale blue a moment ago, now turned darker, became slate grey in colour.
‘I don’t know, Bess,’ he said at last in a puzzled voice. ‘I really don’t … I’m as baffled as you are. I didn’t take your brothers. Why would I? Anyway, I was in London, as you well know. But I suppose there are those who think I arranged for them to be kidnapped … killed? But I’m not responsible for this crime, Bess, if there has been one. You must believe that.’
‘I do. I know you loved the boys, and I know how loyal you always were to my father … I can’t imagine you touching a hair on their heads … they looked so much like him.’
Tears came into Richard’s eyes and he took hold of her hand again. ‘Look at me, Bess, please. Please look at me. I swear to God I did not harm Edward and Ritchie. You must believe me.’
Bess, gazing into his eyes, saw the sincerity reflected there, heard the truth ringing in his voice and she knew he was not lying. She believed him even though there were those who were saying scurrilous things about him. She had known him all of her life and she trusted him absolutely. He was her father’s brother, her father’s favourite, and her father had truly loved Richard.
‘I do believe you,’ she said finally. ‘I trust you with my life, and my sisters’ lives.’
‘Thank you, Bess. Thank you for having faith in me.’ He turned to look at the river, and so did she, and he put his arm around her shoulders and they watched the Thames flowing by, lost in their own thoughts. But both of them were thinking of the future.
Amos Finnister stood in the library of the house in Berkeley Square. As everyone else did when they came into this beautiful room, he was staring up at the painting by Renoir hanging above the fireplace. It reminded him of Bess and Grace Rose. And that was why Mr Edward had bought it in the first place, he was quite sure of that.
‘Hello, Mr Finnister,’ Elizabeth said.
He swung around to face her. ‘Good evening, Mrs Deravenel.’
Elizabeth glided forward into the room, and shook his outstretched hand, and they walked together towards the chairs near the fireplace.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Elizabeth said, as she sat down. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Deravenels.’
‘I thought that was probably why you’d asked me to come. But I don’t have a lot to report, Mrs Deravenel. If I had I’d have been in touch.’
‘I know, you’ve been very good, Mr Finnister, very helpful this past year. And Mr Oliveri as well. Is he coming, by the way?’
‘Yes, he is. He was delayed at Deravenels, but he should arrive within the next few minutes or so.’
‘I’m glad. I wondered how things were at the Paris office.’
‘Very well, as I understand it. But, of course, Oliveri can fill you in better about that, since he deals with them on a constant basis.’
She nodded, clasping her hands together. And what is happening here in London?’ She raised an arched blonde brow, and asked, ‘Have there been any more sackings?’
‘Several, yes, I’m afraid. And Mr Richard has made a few other changes.’
‘But the company is all right, isn’t it?’ she asked, worry suddenly clouding her pale-blue eyes. She brought a hand to her neck nervously. ‘He’s not ruining it, is he?’
‘That would be hard to do, Mrs Deravenel. Mr Edward – well, he made it very safe.’
‘Madam, excuse me, Mr Oliveri has arrived,’ Mallet said from the doorway of the library.
‘Oh, thank you, please show him in, Mallet.’
Elizabeth rose to greet Alfredo as he came hurrying in, apologizing profusely for being late. ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she reassured him, shaking his hand. ‘Please sit down here with us. Oh, and do excuse me, I’m being rather rude not offering you anything. Would you like a drink, Mr Finnister? And what about you, Mr Oliveri.’
Both men declined politely, and Elizabeth leaned back in the chair, and said, ‘I was just discussing Deravenels with Mr Finnister, and he was assuring me that whatever my brother-in-law does, the company will always be safe because of the way my husband set it up.’
‘That’s correct, Mrs Deravenel. Mr Edward, well, he was a genius. His brother is not of the same caliber, I’m sorry to say, but, nonetheless, he’s not a stupid man. He might get rid of a few people now and then, but he’s not going to rock any boats, believe me,’ Oliveri told her confidently.
‘I was mentioning the Paris office to Mr Finnister. Things are all right there, aren’t they?
‘Yes. Couldn’t be better. Henry Turner has been running it very well for quite a while now,’ Oliveri responded. ‘He’s proving to be an asset. We were all a bit perplexed when Mr Edward hired him, several years ago, but he’s done well by the company.’
‘I should hope so, since he’s a shareholder. I’m sure you both know he is the late Henry Grant’s heir, and he inherited all of Grant’s shares in the company.’
‘Mr Deravenel, er, Mr Edward that is, did mention it to me,’ Oliveri said. ‘He seemed to have a lot of faith in young Henry’s business acumen, actually.’
‘So I understand. I want to ask you both something, and I want you to feel at ease in answering me with honesty. It will be in strict confidence, whatever you say.’
Both men nodded.
Elizabeth confided, ‘I hear a great deal of gossip these days about my brother-in-law. It strikes me that Richard Deravenel is not very popular within the company … is that true?’
‘Yes, it is. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he’s disliked. Intensely disliked,’ Oliveri replied.
‘Except for the men he grew up with, and who he brought in after Mr Edward’s death last April,’ Amos pointed out. ‘They kowtow to him.’
‘But surely that’s a handful only?’ Elizabeth interjected.
‘Oh, yes, Mrs Deravenel, that’s correct,’ Oliveri was quick to say.
‘Do people believe he was responsible for the disappearance of my sons?’ She finally brought the most important question to the forefront.
‘A lot do, yes,’ Finnister responded swiftly. He was hell bent on telling her the truth. She deserved to know how grave the gossip was these days. ‘I would say that eighty per cent of the employees at Deravenels think that your brother-in-law had a hand in their disappearance. Don’t ask me why, but they do.’
‘They probably think he got rid of them in order to grab the company for himself, and for his son,’ Oliveri asserted, following Finnister’s lead.
‘Now dead,’ Elizabeth murmured. ‘Odd isn’t it, that his son died on the same day my husband died, exactly one year later.’
Neither man spoke; they both agreed with her. It was the strangest thing to most people. Like Divine Judgement, some thought and said.
Elizabeth looked from Finnister to Oliveri. ‘My daughter, Bess, is actually the heir, you know, not her uncle. I’m sure you also know that my husband changed those ancient rules in 1919, and made certain that a woman born a Deravenel could become managing director when she was old enough.’
‘Yes, we did know,’ Alfredo said, answering for them both.
Elizabeth sat looking reflective for a moment, and then she said, ‘She’s a little bit young to enter the business. At the moment.’
‘But she could come and work at Deravenels and be trained,’ Alfredo exclaimed, excited by the prospect, and eager.
‘In a couple of years she could join the company, yes. Do you think she would be made welcome?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Very much so,’ Alfredo asserted, and then wondered if he was correct. A lot of the men would resent her.
Finnister said, ‘She’s very mature and grown up for her age, Mrs Deravenel, and extremely intelligent, clever like her father. I’ve known her all of her life and she has all of his qualities: and she’s very practical.’
‘That is true, yes. Changing the subject, for a moment, what
do you think about Henry Turner joining the London office? Would he also be made welcome?’ Elizabeth looked from Oliveri to Finnister.
Alfredo stared at Amos, exchanging a look with him, and they both nodded their heads. Amos said, ‘I think so, yes. Certainly by the employees, because after all, he is sort of, well, part Deravenel, isn’t he? At least that’s what we’ve heard.’
‘Yes, through his mother Margaret Beauchard Turner he is, and as I mentioned earlier, he is a major shareholder.’
Amos Finnister now said, in a somber voice, ‘He wouldn’t be welcomed by Mr Richard, not by a long shot.’
‘He wouldn’t allow him to cross the threshold,’ Alfredo announced, grimacing.
‘I realize that,’ Elizabeth said.
Staring at her, weighing her expression and her tone of voice, Amos now murmured very softly, in a conspiratorial way, ‘Are you thinking of an … alliance, shall we call it, Mrs Deravenel? An alliance between Bess and Henry Turner?’
Elizabeth merely smiled.
Amos smiled back.
After a short silence, Elizabeth rose, went over to the fireplace and stood with her back to it as Edward had always done. Her eyes swept over them, two of Edward’s most trusted and devoted employees, two men who had somehow managed to escape Richard’s rampage and were still at Deravenels.
Straightening her back, standing tall, she said, ‘Change. The only thing that’s permanent is change. And things do change often, we all know that. People don’t live forever, now do they?’
FIFTY-THREE
Ravenscar
Catastrophe. That was something his brother Ned had always feared, and he had done everything in his power to sidestep it, to avoid it at all costs, because he believed it would be his undoing. And Ned had succeeded. He had died too young, this was true, but he had died peacefully in his own bed at the height of his success.
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